


Flesh & Bone

by Chiarenski



Category: In the Flesh (TV), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Character Death, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, InTheFlesh!AU, InTheFlesh!Larry, M/M, Partially Deceased Syndrome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strangers to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Zombie, human!Louis, in the flesh - Freeform, larry - Freeform, larry au, please watch In The Flesh, zombie!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiarenski/pseuds/Chiarenski
Summary: Harry Styles returns home to Holmes Chapel, after he came back to life and has been rehabilitated from Partially Deceased Syndrome. He doesn’t know that there's trouble waiting for him in his hometown. Only Louis Tomlinson, a human boy he met, seems to make him feel normal.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can watch In The Flesh here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b042ckss  
> Title insp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAqp9MtRFNo  
> 

****

 

**{ 1 }**

_“ And I am alone, so don’t speak_  
_I find war, and I find peace_  
_I find no heat, no love in me ”_

It had been months since _The Rising_ , the day when thousands of dead people had risen from their graves. Big cities had been the first to be assisted by the government, but in small villages, people had to face everything all by themselves. So ordinary citizens created the _Human Volunteer Force_ (HVF), an armed force of volunteers that were killing the _zombies_ , those rabid undead who had risen from their graves and caused chaos everywhere.  
In Holmes Chapel, people had been shooting at every zombie’s head, until a scientist found a cure, a drug that could let go back to normal people who once were respectable humans being and not bloodthirsty monsters. The government funded a tolerance and acceptance program in specific centres, that provided rehabilitation for those who officially became _Partially Deceased Syndrome_ ( _PDS_ ) _sufferers_. From that moment on, everyone was forced to follow the authorities' order of not killing the patients. Among those _rabid_ _killers_ , as patients were called by HVF people, there was Harry Styles.

 _Blood. There was blood everywhere: on the ground, on his hands, on his clothes, on his lips,_ in _his_ mouth _. He couldn’t_ feel _the metallic taste of blood, but he knew that he had been_ feeding _with it. He was approaching an unknown figure lying on the floor. “Help!” they yelled, “please leave me,” but he didn’t_ understand _. The survival instinct prevailed over every other sense, he needed to eat that person to_ survive _. His brain was off, he had no thoughts, no inhibitions, no moral code, no taboos. Nothing. He was just an animal that was hunting to_ survive _, nothing else.  
_ In a split second, he crouched on that person, a blond boy that was unluckily stuck on the ground by a fridge that had fallen on him in that shop. His long curls drooped over his eyes, preventing him from seeing his prey completely _, but that didn’t stop him from attacking the leg of the poor, miserable, screaming boy, who couldn’t free himself and died slowly, devoured piece by piece by him._

Harry screamed at the top of his lungs.  
“Calm down, calm down.” The doctor of the Rehabilitation Centre had just injected _Neurotryptiline_ with a syringe in Harry's back. This drug, a mix of substances unknown to him, was the only cure that for months had worked for patients in every rehabilitation centre. It was inserted through a syringe, in a hole between the first and the second vertebrae, and it was working on all the undead, who had found the reason and the lucidity that made them _human_. The only unwanted effect was intense _flashbacks_ of when they were dead and unconscious. Remembering and knowing all the people that they had been eating, squelching, killing, was too much for anyone, and for this reason, during the months of rehabilitation, patients were joined by experienced psychologists and psychiatrists.  
_“_ _I am a_ _Partially Deceased Syndrome_ _sufferer_ _, and what I did in my untreated state was not my fault”_ was the phrase that patients had to repeat themselves every day. They had to believe it. At first, it was difficult for everyone to live with that dirty conscience, but after months almost everyone was rehabilitated and reintegrated into their communities.  
For Harry, it was more difficult than for others, because he had been a very sensitive and emotional kid even before his _death_. However, after a long rehabilitation in the centre of Norfolk, according to the doctors, he was _ready to go home_ too.

Within a few hours, his mother Anne and his sister Gemma would have come to take him, and so the doctor left him alone for a little while.  
Harry didn’t think he was ready to go back to his old life as if nothing had happened. He was agitated by the idea of seeing the two women of his life again, after all that time passed without having news, without talking to them. It had been difficult to stay away from them. On the other hand, he preferred it like this, because he didn’t feel like seeing them in those _conditions_ , and mostly because of _what he did before_. But at that point, he missed them a lot, and couldn’t wait any longer to get back to them.  
He looked at his own reflection in the mirror and repeated “ _I am a_ _Partially Deceased Syndrome_ _sufferer_ ” as he was wearing foundations on his face to hide his dead skin. “And what I did in my untreated state was not my fault.” He put green contact lenses to cover his white, empty eyes, and thought of how their meeting could have been. Would it have been embarrassing? Would they have repudiated him? Would they have seen him as the monster he was? What would they have talked about?  
He had so many questions and doubts. If he still had a functioning heart, it would have exploded from agitation.

The meeting turned out to be unexpected. As soon as he walked out of the centre with some doctors, his mother immediately recognized him and ran towards him, with tears in her eyes. There was no sign of Gemma out there. “Maybe she’s waiting in the car,” Harry thought. When Anne pushed herself into his arms, Harry didn’t _feel_ anything of their _physical contact_ , but in his mind, he was happy to know that there was _heat_ in her mom. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear. He let his mum squeeze him without saying anything. There were no words to express what he was feeling.  
The next few minutes the doctors had explained to his mother all the main information about his medical _condition_ and handed her a briefcase containing a syringe, tons of boxes of Neurotryptiline, a leaf with various contacts to call in case of assistance or emergency, and a _taser_ (by law, every family with PDS patients had to have one in case their relative returned to the rabid state).  
Harry was disappointed to find out that Gemma wasn’t even in the car.  
“Gem?” he asked, sitting in the front seat, next to his mom.  
Anne became dark in her face and didn’t answer, pretending not to hear.  
Harry worried. “Oh god, has something happened to her?”  
“She's at home, sweetie," she said abruptly, ending the subject, and she began to tell him all the news he had lost. He was finally coming _home_. It was all that mattered. 

The car ride had been quiet. Anne told him about what had happened in the last months, the newly painted house, the new job she got, how life was going home, his neighbours, and Gemma's studies. She didn’t ask him anything: she knew that it wasn’t the right time to had _the talk_.  
Holmes Chapel had always been a beautiful town, even though voices travelled too fast for Harry. It was a nice village with English houses, big gardens, lawns, hills, a safe environment, a local police security that had nothing to do; on the other hand, it was full of prejudices, intolerance, bigotry, and ignorance.  
Even before The Rising, it had been hard to live in that city for Harry, but that event only brought more ignorance than before.  
Harry knew that at that time there was this “ _Human Volunteer Force_ ” that was propagating against PDS patients, but he couldn’t imagine a situation like the one he should have expected in his hometown. There were graffitis ("ROTTERS MUST DIE!") about Partially Deceased Syndrome patients on everything Harry looked at: road signs, walls, streets. He wasn’t a monster, it wasn’t his fault. It took a long time to understand it, to believe it, but in that moment he was certain about it.

It was dawn when they came home. There was no one in the neighbourhood, but his mother kept looking around as if at any moment an alarm could have ringed. Even Harry had a slight feeling of being observed. While his mother was opening the front door, he looked at the other side of the road and noticed a curtain moving behind a window. There was really someone spying on him, or was it all paranoia?  
_Home sweet home_ , he thought. His mother went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The first thing he did was to go upstairs and head to the bedroom that once belonged to him. He opened the door and with surprise he found out that everything was left just like _before he died_.  
His bed with his favourite blanket, his bookshelves with CDs and books in order of preference, his posters and pictures hung on the walls, his desk full of drawings and unfinished poems. Not even a layer of dust covered the room. All his life was there, waiting for him. He felt melancholic and sad, thinking that his mother had kept everything in its place as if she _knew_ that sooner or later he would have _come back_.  
Suddenly he heard the sound of the front door that opened and slammed, quick and heavy steps, and then running on the stairway. He turned to the bedroom door and found himself in front of a familiar figure.

It was Gemma. She was different from how he remembered her. She seemed thinner, her hair was dyed black, her eyes were circled by an exaggerated black makeup, and she was wearing a military uniform, with a band - _HVF_ \- on her arm. She was one of those people hating on people like him.  
She approached him with discretion, as if he could have bitten her at any moment, then spoke to him, “Are you Hazza?”  
Harry was kind of embarrassed by that question. “Of course I am, Gem.”  
His sister didn’t seem convinced by that answer. She quickly pulled out a knife from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at his forehead, threatening to put it in his brain. “No, you're a fucking zombie. My brother died a year ago, and he isn’t a murderer.”  
“Gem...” he murmured. He didn’t know what to answer. His sister's opinions were always important. What she thought was more important than anything else.  
Anne run upstairs and started screaming at the sight of the knife. "What are you doing, Gem?!"  
She sobbed, but the weapon was still in her hand. “Why did Harry leave me and mom? Why?!”  
Harry took a long breath, pulling back tears and memories. He didn’t know how to explain the reason of _that action_. “I was sick, Gem. I wish I never left. I swear.” He was genuinely sorry for everything he had done, for all the pain he had caused with his _suicide_ , without even leaving a farewell letter, with just a knife and a lot of blood to be cleaned in the bathtub.  
“What did we always do at Christmas, when I was sad, or when I argued with my best friend?” It was a test. Only _her Harry_ could have had the right answer.  
“We used to watch Love Actually, our favourite movie.”  
“Put that down, sweetie, please” sobbed Anne.  
Gemma looked him in the eyes. Her hand was trembling, and eventually, she dropped the knife to the ground and let the tears go. She hugged him and said “I missed you, Harry. I missed you so much.”  
“I'm sorry, Gem, I'm so sorry,” he whispered with a broken voice.  
Anne joined the hug, and Harry started crying. “I’m so sorry mum.”  
“It doesn’t matter. You're here now. It's okay.”  
Finally, Harry was at home, reunited with his family. Nothing would have brought him down anymore. Everything was better.  
_Maybe_. 


	2. 2

****

 

**{ 2 }**

_“ And I am low and unwell_ __  
_this is love, this is hell_ _  
_ _this sweet plague that follows me ”_

Harry had already been through the tunnel of acceptance when he realized he was gay. But Partially Deceased Syndrome, that was a different story. At first, he refused to be what the doctors called him, but when he looked into the mirror and saw the rotten flesh, he couldn’t believe what happened to him. He didn’t want to be a monster. He just wanted to be normal, but that new condition worried him. When he ended his life, he had done it consciously of the irreparable consequence, but at that point he regretted it. He would have preferred that he chose to live for a short period of time, rather than to be condemned to live _forever_.  
He understood the mistake he had made only after he was reborn. And so he accepted that second possibility that fate gave him. He put the past behind, he wasn’t going to think about it again.  
Harry hadn’t believed in God _before_ , and he definitely wasn’t going to believe in it _after_. The Rising had nothing to do with religion, Apocalypse or any other religious theory believed by many people. For him, it was only a matter of redeeming himself, of living his new life without worrying.

Anne and Gemma soon learned to accept the changes of their _new Harry_. The one that kept them company during meals without eating food, otherwise he would have vomited a black substance. The one that had cold skin, no hot blood pumping in his veins, and a heart that stopped beating a long ago. The one that felt nothing, no physical contact with his skin. The one that had white eyes and dead skin, if he didn’t wear lenses and foundation. The one that, in order to stay in that state, he needed an injection into a hole in his back every single day. The one that committed suicide and that they thought they wouldn’t be able to see again. The one that came out of the grave and came back to life, just as they had hoped the first days after his death.  
They weren’t going to ask him anything about his death because they didn’t want to hurt him. They knew he hadn’t been in himself during the post-awakening period, that wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t a murderer. Yet they never let him go out. They were afraid that something bad could happen to him out there, in the dangerous streets of Holmes Chapel, because not everyone was open minded like them. Gemma was even part of the Human Volunteer Force. If they knew that his brother was one of those rotters, they would have killed him instantly. They would have thought that she was too weak and emotional.

So he spent two weeks all alone in his room, always doing something to keep him active, like painting, writing poetry, listening to music, reading books.  
Sooner or later, he would have had to go out. He took advantage of an afternoon, when both her mom and sister weren’t at home, to leave the house. He had never had a secret place to go when he was angry or sad, so he didn’t know where to go in particular. He wore a black sweater with a hood on his head, then he closed the door behind his back and started walking.  
At that time there was no one around, everyone had to be at home or at the recreation centre. He didn’t see anyone during his walk. The open air made him happy, even though he couldn’t _feel_ it. He _imagined_ his lungs working and started walking faster without a goal until he realized that actually there was a place he wanted to see.

Holmes Chapel's cemetery stood on a green hill. It didn’t take long to find his grave since he had some memory of the moments he came back to life. When he read his name on a gravestone, surrounded by a black and yellow caution tape, he was overwhelmed. He looked at his commemorative plaque as if it was a stranger’s one.

_Harry Edward Styles_  
_February 1, 1994 - May 12, 2012_  
_“There is another world_  
_There is a better world”_

The choice of The Smith's “Asleep” quote, his favourite song of his favourite band, could only be Gemma’s. She was the only person in the world who knew him well as her pockets.

Harry lifted his wrists at his eyes’ height and uncovered his black sweater’s sleeves. He looked at the two vertical dark lines that marked his skin. Those two deep cuts were what he hated most of his body. Unlike the other things, there was no way to cover or delete them. Those were the evidence of what he had done, of a life he wanted to forget, and they would have stayed with him forever.  
The knowledge of being basically immortal and of having to live until the end of time, made him regret even more what he did. He regretted dying that damn day.  
He was so absorbed by those thoughts, with his gaze now fixed on the grass, that he didn’t notice the presence of another person until _he_ put a hand on his shoulder. Harry took a step back, lost his balance, and stumbled on his feet. If he could have felt anything, he would have felt pain in his sacred bone.

“I'm sorry, curly, I didn’t mean to scare you,” said the boy in front of him, “A nice guy like you shouldn’t be here, blank staring. You kind of worried me.”  
Harry didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at his blue eyes, his delicate and perfect facial features, his tiny nose, his rosy lips, his brown hair under a black beanie, his thin legs wrapped in black skinny jeans, and then, his black jacket with white _HVF_ initials on his chest. _Fuck_ , he was one of those volunteers against PDS sufferers.  
The boy looked from his eyes to the tombstone and read “Harry Styles,” then lend him a hand to pull him up and asked, “Was he a friend?”  
“No,” Harry replied and got up from the ground without his help.  
“I feel like I’ve seen you before, do I know you?” the boy asked.  
_Was that a pick up line?_ Harry already turned around. “No, I don’t think so,” he said flatly.  
The boy was staring at him while he was walking toward the exit of the cemetery, searching through his memories where he had seen him before.  
“Well, bye, curly.”

The walkie talkie in the boy’s pocket gave a roaring voice. _“Tommo91, are you there? Where are you? Over.”_  
He pressed a button and replied “Again with this stupid nickname? This isn’t a videogame.”  
_“C’mon, you know I'm enjoying it, don't spoil it. Where are you?”_  
“At the cemetery. What’s up, Zaynie?”  
_“What the fuck are you doing there?”_  
“Nothing. What do you want?”  
_“Well, if you could just keep your phone on, you would know that your father called in the council for an urgent matter. This evening.”_  
“Oh, I get it. Over and out, dumbass.”  
Maybe Zayn, his best friend, could have helped him find out who the mysterious boy was.

Sooner or later someone would have found out. Harry didn’t care about anything, he couldn’t possibly live the rest of his miserable life imprisoned in the house, in the shadow of a nosy town.  
He was sure that boy would spread his voice within a few minutes. He had already met him once in his first life. His name started with _L_ , like _Lloyd_ , _Lucius_ , or was _Lincoln_? He was quite popular at Holmes Chapel: he was the captain of the soccer team, but Harry didn’t know him for that.  
Certainly, that boy hadn’t given him a good impression two years earlier, at a party he had been invited too.  
_The two boys had met in somebody’s bathroom when Harry had just finished pissing and that boy came in the room. He just vomited on his brown shoes, without even noticing his presence. Some other boys had entered the room and said something like “you’re so wasted,_ Louis _”. (That was his name!) Then they looked at Harry, laughed, and asked him to leave.  
Harry had spent the rest of that evening sitting on the stairs of that villa alone, with the music breaking his eardrums and someone else's vomit on his shoes. After that, he decided to go home and never go to a party again._

When Harry came back home and went to his room, he felt that Louis would have soon discovered his identity and his particular _condition_. Later, after his mother came home too, someone knocked on the door. _Louis talked_ _to somebody._  
“Anne, I know he's here.” It was a voice he would recognize everywhere, _Mrs. Payne_ , the neighbour who lived in front of them. Harry and her son, _Liam_ , had been friends when they were little: when they ran through their gardens and their homes together. Then their paths split as Liam started meeting with a new company and Harry was left out.  
“I don’t know what you're talking about” Anne said, worried.  
“Relax, I saw you when he arrived. I came here just to tell you that you aren’t the only one. I am part of a support group for families that have PDS relatives. We meet at my place every Friday evening. And you can ask me about anything. I’m here to help.“  
“Oh, okay.”  
“It's a small town. If we don’t help each other, what kind of people would we be?”  
He heard the door shut, and then silence.  
So it wasn’t paranoia: she was the one that was watching them from the windows when he returned to Holmes Chapel. And most of all, Louis didn’t open his mouth.

Meanwhile, at the City Hall, important issues were discussed, such as organizing new rounds, going into the woods to find rotters to kill, creating new propaganda.  
Louis and Zayn, best friends by years, had decided to enter the Human Volunteer Force as soon as it was created. For Louis, it had been a commitment more than a real desire, since his father was a co-founder of the organisation. At first, they had almost taken it as a game: they learned how to shoot, be strong for the community. But after losing _Niall_ , their friend, during a hunt for supplies, everything had changed. They started to be angrier, to take things more seriously, to kill zombies as if it was nothing, without thinking about the consequences. The cure of those monsters and the prohibition of their killing was a cheap shot to them. Those killers had to be stopped at all cost, they had to pay for what they had done. These were the thoughts of most HVF members.  
After the Council, the two friends were walking to their homes.  
“What’s up?” Zayn asked. “You look distracted.”  
“No, it’s nothing” Louis replied.  
“I know you from, what? A lifetime? I know when you’re thinking about something.”  
Louis snorted. “Okay, well, I've met a person today.”  
“Yeah? Describe him.” Zayn knew that Louis liked boys. When they were alone, they could talk about it openly.  
“Curly, green eyes, dimples, a little shorter than me... beautiful as fuck.” Louis smirked.  
“Have you talked?”  
“Yeah, about that. He didn’t seem keen on talking. He left before I could even ask him his name.”  
“Wait a second, you were at the cemetery today. Have you met him there? No shit that he didn’t want to talk, that’s the saddest place to meet someone!”  
“Oh, c'mon! Do you have any idea about who could he be?”  
Zayn laughed. “If he’s shorter than you, I have no idea.”  
Louis laughed too. “Fuck you!”  
“I’m joking. I can’t think of anyone. You should look in the Citizens Archive.”

When Louis arrived home, he went to his room and turned on his laptop. He wanted to remember where he had seen him in the past. He had to be one of those quiet and anonymous guys he could never remember.  
He tried to search among his Facebook friends but didn’t find him. So he tried in the Citizens Archives, that included a list of everyone with attached photos. Maybe there he would have found something.  
It took him about three hours, before finding something. A photo of some old news paralyzed him. “ _Harry Styles:_ ” began the title of the article, next to the picture of a curly guy. He smiled. He found him! Then he remembered the plaque he saw that afternoon, and his heart stopped while he was reading the full article.

_"Harry Styles: model student committed suicide"  
A tragedy occurred on May 12, 2012. Harry Styles, model student with no problem, was found lifeless at home by his family. He had regular hobbies, didn’t frequent bad companies, and yet something inside him broke irreparably. No one can explain his sudden action. The family asks respect for the silence that left his disappearance._

In that moment, Louis didn’t care about having let one of those rotters escape. He felt sorry for what had happened to the boy, just that. He wished he could have known him before. He didn’t seem _dangerous_ to him, on the contrary, he found him really cute. He was sure that that boy couldn’t even hurt a fly, yet one of his duties was to report those “rotters”. What was he supposed to do? Report the fact? Pretend he didn’t see anything? Go find him and _place a bullet in his brain_? “ _No, fuck, not this time_.”


	3. 3

****

**{ 3 }**

_“ And my body’s weak_  
_feel my heart giving up on me_  
_I’m worried it might just be_  
_And my body’s weak_ _  
_ _feel my lungs giving up on me ”_

 

Two weeks had passed since Harry met Louis. And two weeks had passed since Harry had the chance to go out. After that long period of time in which he felt imprisoned between his house walls, he decided to spend some time outside.  
He prepared quickly, wearing black clothes and a hood on his head. He still had no idea where to go, but he was certain that if he had stayed another minute in his house, he would have gone crazy. He just wanted to walk, to not feel locked up.  
He went downstairs and approached the front door with keys in his left hand. His right hand was on the door’s handle, he was ready to go out. He looked at his reflection in the mirror beside the door and sighed. If it hadn’t been for lenses and foundation, he wouldn’t have been able to look at himself for more than five seconds.  
He was about to move his right hand down to open the door, but suddenly the doorbell ringed. He felt so frightened that he let the keys slip from his hand, which created noise against the floor.  
The bell rang again, but Harry was paralysed by fear. He hoped that the person didn’t hear the keys’ noise he caused. He was afraid to move, to look at the peephole.

He stood there with his eyes wide open looking at the door, until “Open up,” said a familiar voice “I know there’s someone in there, I've heard the keys.”  
He waited a few seconds, hoping that the person would leave.  
“Harry Edward Styles, let me in or I'm going to scream.” Harry recognised the person as _Louis_. “Believe me, I don’t want to scream: “ _there's a zombie here_ ”. I don’t want to” he lowered his voice to make sure he couldn’t be heard.  
Harry scanned the inside of the house but realised he had no escape. So he opened the door without resistance.  
That day Louis didn’t wear the _Human Volunteer Force_ jacket, but a blue sweater that seemed to fit his blue eyes.  
“I am Louis, nice to meet you,” he said, handing him a hand.  
Harry stared at it reluctantly, he had no idea of what he was doing. “ _I_ _know who you are_ ,” he thought, then he decided to shake the other boy's hand. He knew that he would have felt his dead _cold_ skin. “I'm Harry, but I guess you already know that” he said.  
Louis shake a bit when he felt Harry’s cold hand as if he had just received an electric shock, but he didn’t get separated from that contact. Instead, he stared into his eyes and smiled. “Do you want to go for a walk around, Harry?”  
Harry was the first to detach their hands. “Do I have a choice?”  
“You were about to go out anyway, am I right?”Louis continued to smile, and Harry didn’t understand whether it was a positive or a negative thing. Did he want to kill him? Was it going to happen there in his house? Maybe he wanted to bring him to other people and humiliate him before killing him? He could only follow his orders. “It’s dangerous for those like you to go out alone, but if you come with me, you can have fun and be safe.”  
Harry looked down and repeated, “ _Those like me_.”  
Louis shrugged. “You know what I mean. Everyone is hunting those like you like you're some kind of monsters.”  
“What are your thoughts about that?” Harry asked.  
“Look, I don’t want to hurt you or bring you to anyone. I just want to... get to know you. Unless you have other friends to spend time with.”  
If there was one thing Harry had learned well in his life, it was to not trust people too much, especially cute ones with beautiful eyes. Like that time when, on a birthday party, a handsome gray-eyed guy asked for his phone number and he gave it to him without thinking twice, not knowing that he asked it for a bet, and so everyone became aware of his sexual orientation.  
Louis seemed honest though. He had something different, hidden in those eyes that made him look like an angel. So he decided to go out with him because he felt he could trust him.  
Louis explained to him how he found him in the Citizen Archive, but leaving out the article that was about his suicide. He had decided that he wouldn’t ask him anything about that delicate matter.  
Harry snorted, picked up the keys that were still on the floor, closed the door behind him, put the hood on his head, and then followed Louis.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, heading somewhere only Louis knew. Walking with him made him feel _normal_ and calm because people walking near them assumed that whoever was with Louis was normal like him.  
They walked for a few minutes on a country road, then muddled their shoes until they reached a hill and sat down on the top of it. From that point of view, they could see most of Holmes Chapel's roofs. Harry could distinguish the dome of the church, the soccer field, the mall, and all the residential houses. He knew all the streets of that town by heart, because of all the afternoons he had wandered on foot or by bicycle.  
Louis pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jeans pocket. “Tell me something about you,” he said and broke the silence, before taking a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it up.  
Harry looked at him. He would have loved to tell him that smoking was bad and all that stuff, but he felt like he didn’t have a say in the matter. “What do you want to know?”  
“You don’t _look_ like a monster, but you've killed someone.” Louis blew out a little smoke in his face.  
“ _I'm not_ a monster,” said Harry. “And it wasn’t my fault.”  
Louis blew a smoke ring, then handed him the cigarette.  
Harry refused with a nod. “You may not believe me, but that's the truth. I wasn’t conscious.”  
“I believe you. I know it wasn’t anyone's fault. I know everything.”  
Harry didn’t understand. If he was really so open minded, it didn’t make sense that he was part of the HVF. “Why are you part of the Human Volunteer Force then?” Harry asked, confused.  
Louis's gaze became dark. “I had no choice, my father created it with others. I couldn’t disappoint him.”  
“So you decided to use violence against violent people that you knew weren’t conscious of what they were doing, just because you have some daddy issues?” Harry pulled out.  
“No!” Louis shouted, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground and shutting it off with his shoe. His hands were trembling, and he didn’t think clearly when he said, “I joined them because monsters like you have ripped happiness apart!”  
Harry felt sorry for him. He thought that Louis was kind of right, he didn’t deserve to be simply forgiven without bringing that shit up.  
“I’m sorry,” Louis continued. "It's just that... since one of my best friends was killed, I lost my mind.”  
“Oh, I'm sorry” Harry whispered and instinctively squeezed his hand. He didn’t care that he was cold, he wanted to send some love from his heart.  
Louis's smile came back thanks to that touch. “You know, I shouldn’t be here with you. People in this city are very... narrow-minded. But I feel right about you.”  
Harry smiled, and two dimples appeared on his face.  
“You are not a monster. How could you ever be, with these dimples?” Louis said.  
Harry showed an embarrassed smile, and for a millisecond he could have sworn that he felt his heart beat in his chest again.

They sat there for a long time. They talked about anything that came across their minds, discovering more things about each other. Louis was twenty-two, he had a lot of sisters which he cared about a lot, he loved English tea, he had more than twenty tattoos, he loved soccer and indie rock music.  
Despite being on two different enemy fronts, they had found more in common with each other than with anyone else. They belonged to two different worlds. They were like the sun and the moon, light and darkness, _life_ and _death_. They were something that couldn’t exist together. There was no hope for them.  
Harry felt like his soul needed something. _Someone_. Someone that could make him forget his past, even for a few minutes. Someone that could make him feel still alive, as if his body still worked. Someone that could make him feel a _human_ again, worth of living again. Louis seemed to be that someone.  
“I have to go,” Harry said. He stood up and shook the grass from his ass.  
Louis got up after him and passed him his phone, lit in the “Add Contact” screen. “First, you have to give me your number.”  
Harry didn’t have the slightest idea if he still had a phone, but he gave him his old number, hoping it would have worked. “Send me a message, then I'll answer you,” he said.  
“Okay” He picked his phone and saved him as “Curly”. “See ya.”  
“Bye, ” said Harry, before turning and walking back home.

When Harry came back home, his mother hadn’t returned yet fortunately, so he had time to clean his dirty shoes and went looking for his missing phone. He searched him everywhere, then eventually found it in a black box under his bed.  
While he was downstairs to prepare a nice dinner for his mum and Gemma, his phone’s battery was charging. After the two women ate and he helped them washing dishes, he came back to his room. The first thing he did was to turn on his phone. As soon as it lit up, he noticed with a smile that he had new messages, including four from a new number.

(17:49) Heyyy, it’s Louis. I hope this is your right number. If it isn’t, then I’ll be forced to kill you (:  
(18:24) Oh my God, I’m sorry.  
(18:25) I would never kill you!!!

Harry smiled for what it seemed to be the hundredth time in the same day.

(20:23) I'm Harry, it’s the right number.

He waited some time for an answer but eventually decided to let go. Louis was probably already sleeping.  
Even though he didn’t realise it, in one day Louis became his sun, his light, his life. After a long time of self-hatred, he felt worth living, happy. He wouldn’t have let the divergences between their worlds prevent him from choosing happiness for once.  
He fell asleep thinking about Louis, and the moments they shared that day.

 _His long curls drooped over his eyes, preventing him from completely seeing his_ prey _, but that didn’t stop him from attacking the leg of the poor, miserable, screaming boy, who couldn’t_ _free himself and died slowly, devoured piece by piece by him._ _  
__When he was finished, he slowly stood up. He crawled his feet to another lane of the shop, staining the floor with blood. It was at that moment that a dark haired guy was standing in front of him: he first stared at him, and then at the dead body behind him.  
__“Niall, no!” the boy said with a choked voice and tears in his eyes before Harry tried to attack him. The boy aimed a gun at his head and pressed the trigger, but nothing happened. He had finished ammo, so he stepped back, cursed, and then ran away._

Harry woke up from that nightmare in panic. He was trembling and screaming. At his side, his sister and his mother tried to calm him with soft caresses. What made him upset about that nightmare was that it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a _flashback_ , something that really happened, something terrible that he had done, something he just couldn’t forgive to himself.


	4. 4

****

**{ 4 }**

_“ And I see war on the screen,_   
_and it is cruel and unclean_ _  
_ _but I still worry more about you”_

 

A few days after Louis and Harry'smeeting, Harry’s mother opened his door without knocking. She had to give him terrible news.  
“Harry, they changed my shift at work,” she exclaimed as if it was the end of the world. “Theresa, I don’t know if you remember her, my blonde colleague, she is pregnant. Well, she was. The baby is born. So I have to work more hours.”  
Harry felt like a terrible son because he was happy about that news. He loved his mother, but also loved being free to do what he wanted to do, which in that case, it was seeing Louis.  
“Don’t worry, I'll find something to do on my own, it's not a problem, really” he replied. His mind was already projecting himself with Louis on _their_ hill.

Harry and Louis managed to spend more time together on the hill that hosted their secret encounters, and life seemed better to Harry. Every afternoon, at 3:30 pm, they had a date to _their_ place isolated from the rest of the world. They spent time telling each other things about their days, about what they thought about the most random topics, like life, hobbies, weird things that happened to them. Louis had a very long list of puns and jokes that always cheered Harry up. Harry had a very long list of deep songs that always made Louis feel warm in his chest.  
In particular, Louis liked to talk about his huge circle of friends, like Zayn, his best friend number one. Harry could read in his eyes that he cared about that guy, and he was happy to know that someone in the world could make him feel happy. But he also felt a little jealous of that boy he didn’t even know, because Harry would have loved to be part of Louis's life as Zayn was.  
He was aware that he had no chance with someone like Louis. Beautiful, funny, supportive, spontaneous, _alive_. He definitely had a  _little_ crush on him. But he knew that sooner or later reality would have slapped him in his face. The reality where there wasn’t a single chance between them.

One afternoon, Louis was talking about some parties he had been to. Harry kept for himself the memory of the party in which Louis had vomited on his shoes, and let him talk for minutes. Louis was a party animal. He was that kind of person who knew everybody at a party, that could take a shot as if it was water and not alcohol, that could dance and have fun all the time. It had to be fun to admire Louis in that kind of environment without getting vomited on.  
They sat in front of each other, and Louis was tapping his feet on the ground. “You know, a few weeks ago Zayn and me found a small abandoned factory in the woods, and we organized a masked party tonight. There will be music, food, alcohol, weed, all you can imagine at a party.” His eyes sparkled with pride as he spoke.  
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Like, a rave? I think it's illegal, you know?”  
“Well, maybe, but we don’t care. Nobody cares. We want everyone to take a break, stay up all night, and jump around until we see the sun. Everyone has been invited.” Louis paused briefly before adding “You could come too.”  
Harry felt kind of uncomfortable. Beside their hill, they never had been anywhere else. He didn’t know how to behave in that situation. “Thank you, but I don’t think it's a good idea.”  
Louis got on his knees and approached his face to Harry's, widening his eyes like a kitten that wants attention. “Come on, it's just one night. You stay with me, no one recognizes you with a mask on, and you have fun like never before.”  
Harry snorted. Having Louis so close to him almost made him _feel_ sick. He wanted to put a hand on his own chest to make sure it wasn’t beating, but he didn’t do it because he _knew_ it couldn’t happen. “I don’t even know how to lie to my mum.”  
“Oh, I'm sure you can do it,” Louis said.  
“I don’t know how to get there.”  
“I’m picking you up, that’s obvious. And I can give you a mask to wear if you don’t have one. And if at any moment you won’t feel comfortable, we can come here and forget the fact that I kind of cared a lot about that party.”  
“Oh, so you care more about me than a rave party? That’s sweet” he joked.  
Louis’ face was serious this time. “Yes, of course.”  
Harry didn’t know what to reply. He couldn’t say no to Louis, no to that Louis, with that face, at that moment, when he was that close to him.  
“Is this a yes?” Louis asked, his mouth already wide open in a smile.  
“Whatever” Harry mumbled, then got squeezed in a hug.

 _It was 3am, four years earlier. Louis had just come home after_ the most beautiful night of his life _, as he always thought when he came back from a party.  
__When he went into the living room to watch some television before going to bed, he found his father still awake, ready to ask “Where have you been?”  
__“At a party,” Louis said without emotion. All the happiness he felt that one night was already dissolving thanks to his father.  
__“Who was there?”"  
__"Uhm, Zayn, Niall, Luke, all the guys.”  
__“Jesus, you don’t like girls or something?”  
__Louis went silent for a while. His father always hoped that he would date Eleanor, a cute girl that he knew since he was a child, but Louis didn’t care for her at all. Or any other girl. He definitely had other preferences. He liked something his father considered disgusting. Something that would have condemned him to a life of degradation and disgrace. Being gay wasn’t something his father approved, so he preferred to lie. “Yeah, I do, it was just a boys night.”  
__Louis lied to his father, but not to himself. He knew very well what he liked, and that there was nothing wrong with that. He was okay with that part of himself, he didn’t feel ashamed. It was only a matter of hiding it from his father._

Louis’ mother was making dinner with his sisters, while he was getting ready to go out. He wore a gray t-shirt too long for him, black jeans, and a pair of gray Vans. He shoved two skull masks in a black backpack.  
“Can you leave me some food, please? I’m going out.” Louis announced to her mother in the kitchen, before taking keys, a leather jacket and a helmet of his black motorbike from a closet in the hallway.  
“Where are you going?” she asked worried. She was cooking meat and potatoes.  
“Uh, it’s not a patrol, just a night out” Louis leaned over and kissed her cheek.  
“You’re going out?” his father asked.  
“Yes.”  
“Who is there?”  
“Eleanor, Zayn, Luke, some girls.”  
“Be careful about rotters.”  
“Always.”  
“Byeee” his sisters and mother said.  
The conversation ended and Louis left the house, headed to Harry's house with his black motorbike.

The habit of setting up the table for three couldn’t be changed by Anne. Even though Harry could only look at Gemma and his mother eating without being able to join them, he always sat in his seat and share that moment with his family. That evening Harry watched the empty plate in front of him and helped clear and wash the dishes like any other time. Gemma said she had to go out for the patrol thing, and half an hour later she got out of the house.  
Harry and Anne stayed in the living room and watched an episode of Doctor Who. Harry had to prepare himself in time to get out with Louis without being caught. After looking at the screen for ten minutes, failing to follow the _Van Gogh episode_ , his favourite one, Harry stood up. “I'm tired, I'm going to bed.” He felt awful at lying to his mother.  
“Me too, actually.” His mother turned off the TV and they both went upstairs to enter their rooms.  
“Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight Harry.”  
Everything was fine. He did it. He lied. He waited a few minutes, hearing his mother doing her night routine. Then eventually she got to bed, and he started dressing as fast as possible, without making any noise. For that night he went for a total black look. After that, he sat on his bed and waited for an infinity of time before receiving a message.

(22:49) H!!!! Come out, I'm here!!!

He made sure his foundation and lenses were okay, then with the same speed of a snail, he went downstairs. He looked out of the window and saw no one, but he knew that Louis was out there. He wished he had never agreed to go to that party. He felt anxious as fuck.  
He slowly opened  the door and left. Louis approached him and, without even saying hello, he said “Come on, move your ass”.  
“Hello to you too” Harry said.  
Then Louis took his _cold_ hand and dragged him to the motorbike he parked in another street. He passed him a helmet to wear, wore his own, and then got on the vehicle.  
Harry looked at the bike and mumbled “I’m not coming with you on this _thing_.”  
“We’re late. And this is safe. Super safe. I promise.”  
Harry rolled his eyes. “If I die, _again_ , it’s on you” he said, then wore the helmet, and sat behind Louis. “How does this work?” he asked.  
“Hold onto my waist with both hands. It should work.”  
Harry almost screamed “Should?!” when Louis turned on the engine. He automatically pressed himself against Louis and held his waist.  
Louis smiled. He definitely had a crush on him.  
The motorbike started taking them to the destination. The sky was dark blue. There was a lot of wind. And Harry was afraid of falling. Off the bike, in love, or both, it’s up to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading AAAAAAAAAAA

**Author's Note:**

> 1: Hiiii. Thanks for reading.  
> 2: I'm Italian, that's why my English sucks. Feel free to correct anything.  
> 3: I wrote this 2 years ago but, well, nobody read it in Italian so that's why I'm here lmao
> 
> "There’s what I believe, and then there’s you."


End file.
